


Homestead

by hepatica



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Bottom Big Boss, M/M, they live on a farm, what else can i say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-06-09 10:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6902233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hepatica/pseuds/hepatica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembered Ocelot's outstretched hand like it was yesterday. Leave it all behind - there's more to live for than killing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one got waaay too long and eating up too much time to drop in one hit, so it's a two-parter.

Ocelot was on his knees in the vegetable patch, digging up potatoes in the evening light. Big Boss sat back and tried his hand at twirling a revolver, not one for garden work.

“Could do pea and potato soup” Ocelot said, brushing off clumps of dirt. “Or is that boring?”

Big Boss dropped the gun and mumbled something about being used to _boring._  and that was true enough. Not much happened these days, but he was pleased enough - it was the life he'd chosen, after all.

 

\--

 

They owned a farm, or a ranch; Big Boss wasn’t sure on the specifics. Technically, Ocelot had bought the land in some backwater former Soviet territory and invited Big Boss to make a home on it. His home was a small cabin bordering the woodlands that encircled their fields, sturdy enough to withstand the rough weather, isolated enough to make him feel he lived alone.

He still remembered Ocelot's outstretched hand like it was yesterday. _Leave it all behind - there’s more to live for than killing._ So they had walked away. Venom took his place, the world none the wiser. Nobody took Ocelot's - nobody could. He supposed, in a way, they had both died. Early retirement.

Cowards.

“It's what she would have wanted,” Ocelot consoled himself on one of the early nights he was beset with guilt. “To let the world be. We did enough harm.”

Big Boss breathed out a waft of cigar smoke. “You understood what she wanted better than any of us.”

“...you think she's waiting up there to pass judgement?”

Big Boss found he couldn't care about that anymore, having committed himself to hell the moment he had killed The Boss. He briefly wondered if Ocelot's machinations against Cipher had been his way of seeking redemption, but just as quickly pushed it out of mind. He'd never known Ocelot to care much for his own morality in the eyes of others, just the results.

 

\--

 

Before they had left Ocelot had made sure to give EVA the locations of her sons, a pittance for leaving her behind. Big Boss had watched her kiss Ocelot’s cheek and speak into his ear, quietly so Big Boss couldn't hear.

She let go of Ocelot and finally turned to her old flame. “I’m only letting you go because I know you're in safe hands.”

“I’m not a kid,” Big Boss grumbled.

“So you think.” She kissed him on the cheek, then his lips, lingering there for a moment. “You take care of him too. He won't say it, but even he needs a little tending to. He’s like a cactus, can’t tell it needs water until its dying. Looks like one too -”

“Let’s go,” Ocelot said loudly, their flight not ready for boarding for at least another ten minutes.

Remembering that promise, Big Boss tracked Ocelot down in his vegetable patch and found him looking despondently at where he’d hoped turnips would grow.

“Another failure?” Big Boss ventured.

“Mm.”

“I'm sure it'll work out next season.”

“That's what you said last season.”

They had bought the land easily because the soil was poor, but he knew Ocelot was disappointed each time his seeds refused to grow. It wasn't just the vegetables - animals struggled to give birth, and if their offspring survived they rarely made it through the harsh winter. Life was hard come by on their farm, but they made do with the few things they could grow, the eggs the chickens reliably laid, and what they could forage and hunt from the woods. They had plenty of supplies and were hardly at risk of starvation, but Big Boss knew Ocelot was a perfectionist and saw relying on what they'd brought from the outside world as a failure. 

“Feels like a curse,” Ocelot said as he jabbed at the dirt with his spade. Big Boss laid a hand on his shoulder, unsure of what else he could do.

 

\--

 

Ocelot was particularly fond of horses, so they kept a dozen on the paddock. Beautiful, well-groomed and spoiled rotten horses that Ocelot fussed over far too much, but Big Boss just couldn’t say no to Ocelot beckoning him up to share a ride sometimes. He couldn’t be sure why Ocelot liked having company on the saddle as they trotted around the lake so much, but he knew better than to question his friend’s quirks by now.

Today they were clearing the paddock of mud and fixing the fences damaged by a fierce storm the night before; satisfying labour that reminded Big Boss of training exercises if he just closed his eyes and imagined Ocelot barking at him was his old drill instructor.

“I never understood it,” Ocelot said as they took a break, leaning on his shovel and looking out on grey skies.

Big Boss made a curious noise as he guzzled water.

“How you accepted it,” Ocelot continued. “People using you. Lying to to your face.”

“I left America -”

“No. Your friends.”

It wasn’t something he enjoyed thinking on, so he mumbled, “Life's hard. People have to look out for themselves.”

“I wouldn’t forgive it.”

“Rich, coming from a spy.”

“That’s exactly why I wouldn’t forgive it,” Ocelot said curiously. “You're a good man, John. You didn't deserve it.”

Ocelot resumed shoveling, and Big Boss was left to ponder the concept as a horse nipped at his frayed coat.

He lay in bed that night wondering what it was that he deserved. He wasn’t sure he deserved the life he had now, knowing he had betrayed his comrades to seize it. Ocelot had smoothly talked him into it, of course: _you’ve done your duty, if you have to blame anyone for this, blame me_. He rubbed his eye, wondering how it was that he’d taken Ocelot’s hand in his and abandoned his dream of Outer Heaven so easily - why it was that he had lain down his gun when Ocelot had asked above all others. 

 

\--

 

Not long after they’d settled in, Big Boss erected a simple memorial for The Boss, just on the edge of the woods near his cabin. If he couldn’t visit Arlington, then he could sit here at least. Over time his distaste for how she had wasted her life mellowed, and he could visit it without feeling the bitter anger that had driven him to toss her bandana into the sea.

Ocelot didn't say anything on it or join Big Boss while he sat before it, choosing to leave flowers there on his birthday instead. They'd visited her grave in Arlington together once, years ago, and he hadn't said anything then either. Whatever his feelings were on his parents, he'd kept them completely to himself from the moment he’d been carefully pulled aside and told as a young man what his heritage truly was. Between his silence and Big Boss’s reluctance to share, her presence in their new lives was confined to the small space at the foot of a single pine tree.

 

\--

 

Big Boss had been rarely, truly, alone. The concept was terrifying. But Ocelot seemed born into it, seeking out validation here and there before withdrawing into himself. Sometimes he said nothing at all; just gestured across the field to Big Boss to let him know he existed. Big Boss didn’t mind that - they had never relied on words or physical proximity for closeness before. But the closer they were now the greater the differences seemed, and the first stirrings of loneliness began. He wished Ocelot might close that gap between them, feeling it was improper for himself to do it: he was still _Big Boss_ , even without a Heaven or an army.

Kaz had been different. The man had demanded his passion and attention, a rough equality in their friendship. Ocelot - the real one - wasn’t that type of person - had a streak of deftness in him that made him hard to befriend like other men, his subservience creating a further distance between them. If Kaz was the sun that had set over MSF, Ocelot was the moon that hung low over their farm at night. Sometimes Ocelot joined him stargazing, apparently bored of reading his cheap cowboy novels in his lounge alone. They rarely spoke then either, unless it was Ocelot pointing out which constellation meant what. Coexistence was easiest in the dark, and Ocelot had always demanded so little.

Still, what Ocelot had once expected of him was _war,_ and unable to prove his worth on the battlefield Big Boss was left to pick up his pride in other ways. He was an incompetent homemaker, burning or breaking anything he tried his hand at, so he hunted, trekking into the woods with a rifle slung over his shoulder. Ocelot may have been the better shot between the trees, but Big Boss was better at going unnoticed: he shot two rabbits in a flash and let a third go free, feeling generous.

He tossed a rabbit to Ocelot back at the homestead, keeping one for his own dinner.

“Take both,” Ocelot said, knife in hand. “You're getting skinny.”

It was true enough. Out of practice they had both lost some muscle and the cold felt more biting than ever. Big Boss suddenly wanted to press his hand to Ocelot's stomach to feel just how slim he'd gotten, but reigned himself in before he acted stupidly. That sort of thing would be an unnecessary complication to their simple lives now. Besides, it was surely only a few pounds, if he’d kept up his exercise regime as Big Boss did.

Ocelot didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “I made some stew, if you're interested. It's nothing special but…”

It wasn't great - too thin, a little flavourless. Big Boss let him know, because he'd never been one for tact. Ocelot bristled and told Big Boss he could _learn how to cook for himself then_ before picking up the plates and retreating to the kitchen. Big Boss snorted and left the house with a loaf of bread, dried fruit, and a new sweater Ocelot had sewn for him. Inside his cabin he collapsed on his bed, ready to spend another night chipping away at his latest wood figure.

 

\--

 

The nightmares didn't let up, even away from the screams and gore of the battlefield. He woke up sweating one night and pressed his face to the cool window, taking comfort in the light that was still on in the homestead. He briefly thought to cross the field, but - it wasn't right for him to do it. He settled back into bed and continued his restless sleep.

 

\--

 

Before the winter frost settled in Big Boss would bathe in the brisk stream that ran down from mountain range; he was doing so when Ocelot appeared on the small hill, a herd of goats at his legs.

“Don't mind us,” Ocelot said, an edge of something in his voice Big Boss couldn't pinpoint. He barely paid it mind as the goats wandered down to graze and drink, but it was hard not to notice Ocelot's heavy stare, almost prickling his skin. He often stared intensely as Big Boss worked, eyes on his muscles straining as he chopped wood or moved bales of hay.

“Care to join me?” Big Boss asked, scrubbing at the day’s collection of dirt on his hands. Ocelot took his time responding, still watching.

“Think I'll be right - got a shower like a civilised person and all that. You planning to use soap at any point?”

“Huh, think you’re above me now?”

“Well, I am on top of the hill. Come up to feed at the house later - you can take these troublemakers back up once you’re done.”

Big Boss grumbled at the task, but there was warm food on the outside table waiting for him as promised. Ocelot joined him eventually, turning his chair to face outwards to the fields.

“It’s not bad out here,” Ocelot offered, evening light fading on his profile.

“Yeah. Reminds me of the farms around my home when I was a kid. Couldn’t take the idea of getting stuck out there for the rest of my life though, joining the army and getting the hell outta there was all I could think about.”

“Can’t imagine you as a kid,” Ocelot said. “I like it - the isolation. Turns out growing up in the army makes you think about farms. Just wanted to be somewhere away from people, where I didn’t have to hide anything about myself. I think I had plans to open a ranch where I was the only person allowed to ride the horses.”

“What the hell were you hiding as a _kid?_ ”

Ocelot laughed, a clear sound usually reserved for when Big Boss embarrassed himself: “My job isn’t the only thing people might hate me for, especially where I grew up.”

Big Boss was perplexed, so Ocelot laughed again. “You really are dense about this sort of thing, aren’t you?”

The older man scowled and finished his supper, feeling like he’d had a conversation like this before with someone else.

  

\--

 

Their fall project was constructing a new chicken coop to replace the slowly decaying one they’d been left with. Big Boss watched warily as Ocelot sawed at a plank of wood, his hand slipping at the last moment to nick his thumb. Sucking at it, Ocelot handed the saw to Big Boss so he could finish the job.

It was hard not to imagine the dab of blood on the saw’s edge was something he’d won. Slitting someone’s throat, the strange pleasure of feeling their life drain away in his hands - the exhilaration of the alarm being sounded, dogs on his heels - how he missed that -

He finished his work quickly and tossed the saw away before he came undone completely. He had come here to learn how to build, not destroy.

 

\--

 

When they first arrived, loaded up with bags and food and things to distract themselves with for the rest of their lives, Ocelot had suggested picking up some creative endeavour to take his mind off of soldiering, but an hour into a painting session Big Boss knew his talents weren’t of the peaceful kind. But he enjoyed carving his wood figures, and the irony of creating something out of slicing into it wasn’t lost on him.

He finished a particularly nice looking goat one evening and slipped it into his jacket pocket; he’d been invited up for dinner and felt like he best bring something beside his company and a handful of the weedy looking flowers that grew around his cabin.

“You made this?” Ocelot said, inspecting the figure in his hand, dinner sizzling away in the kitchen.

“You can have it,” Big Boss said, feeling bashful about it for some reason. “It’s your birthday soon, right? Figured you liked these things.”

“I’m surprised you remembered.”

“It’s a hard date to forget.”

“No, I’m surprised you’re even keeping track of the date. Didn’t think you had a calendar in there.”

Big Boss shrugged. “I’ve always been good at keeping time.”

And that was true - he could almost count down to a precise second when he’d see Ocelot emerge from the homestead at dawn, ready for the morning rounds. He always made sure he was up to see it, and he wasn’t sure why, but it brought him some pleasure to see Ocelot out there like clockwork, unaware he was being watched from the cabin across the field.

He wanted more than anything for Ocelot to catch him and walk over, but he never did, and going out to meet him as anything but a soldier struck Big Boss as shy. Even now, standing in the warmly lit living room, Big Boss could see the complicated books Ocelot read with ease, the crochet patterns he’d stitched, the drawings he’d taken to scribbling for the sake of it. In comparison, Big Boss felt dumb as an ox. Untalented and incapable of impressing as he had so easily done before, he was filled with trepidation as Ocelot judged what he’d made.

He shouldn’t have worried.

“It’s great,” Ocelot decided, sounding genuinely pleased at his gift. “Thanks, Boss.” He patted Big Boss on the arm, before cautiously going in for a hug. They rarely did that either, but it was strangely nice to be embraced by his friend. They lingered a little too long and parted awkwardly, laughing and slapping each other lightly on the arms and chest to make up for it.

“Hope you're hungry,” Ocelot said with a crooked smile, “because I made enough to feed the entire countryside. There should be warnings on serving sizes in American cookbooks.”

They sat inside, eating and chatting and drinking themselves into a pleasant buzz. The drunker Big Boss got the more interested he was in Ocelot’s hands, once immaculately kept but now roughened and scarred from farmwork as he went without gloves. He lifted one up to compare with his, pressing their palms together and making judgemental noises.

“How’s it feel to be so big?” Ocelot inquired, face redder than Big Boss remembered it getting at Cipher parties.

“Dunno, what’s it feel like being so small?”

“I - I’m not small,’ Ocelot spluttered. “I’m taller than you, and bigger than most guys -”

“I could break you in half.”

“You..you couldn’t catch me...I’m fast like a cat -”

“- meowing for backup -”

“I’m never gonna live that down am I?” Ocelot whined. “That’s how we summoned each other in the unit. I'm not about to stop tradition.”

“You would’ve done it anyway. You were one demented kid.”

“Yeah, you’re right. You’re only young once, until you’re the crazy old man. It was fun back then, wasn’t it? Before - everything.”

Big Boss set his glass down. “Yeah...back when there was something to believe in.”

“And a purpose,” Ocelot added, lighting a cigarette for himself. “Say, what’s the purpose for the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan? All I saw were comrades desperate to go home and the Mujahideen trying to kick them out even faster. There's no honour in that. This is the era of pointless wars to feed politician's egos, and PMCs paying off any schmuck to kill a man from a country he's got no business shooting at. Everything’s a game, to the people at the top who can barely survive a papercut, down to the highschool dropouts at the very bottom being fooled into thinking they’re doing something righteous with their lives - and it’s the civilians caught up in the middle who are paying for it. These aren’t real soldiers, and these aren’t real wars, not like we’re used to.” Ocelot sat back and blew out a large puff of smoke. “I just couldn’t watch it anymore. There’s no place for men like us in this new world.”

"So you came here, right?" Big Boss smiled ruefully. “I used to think you didn't join MSF because you were busy.”

“You didn't know what it would lead to. I didn't either, until it was too late. And I'll admit, I thought you were planning an insurrection against Cipher back then - frankly I was a little hurt you were doing it without me.”

For some reason that really tickled Big Boss, and he burst out laughing. “MSF trying to take down Cipher? We were too busy having parties on the beach, getting our pockets lined _by_ Cipher, and half my men building them a metal gear behind my back. Jesus - what a goddamned mess. Can you imagine Outer Heaven? Some guy would probably rip off his face mask and reveal he was Zero all along.”

It was Ocelot’s turn to laugh loudly. “You know, the last thing Zero told me was asking me to protect you,” he said once he’d settled down. “I wonder what he'd think about this.”

“I don't care what anyone thinks anymore,” Big Boss replied, and the topic veered back into more light-hearted affairs. It was the first time they’d talked so casually since the ‘70s, and Big Boss hadn’t realised how much he’d missed having his friend around. They’d spent such a long time apart that they became almost concepts in the other’s mind, bonded by an unchanging feeling but hardly real. He had almost worried the fantasy might break once they really got to know each other, but seeing Ocelot drunk, smoking and laughing across the table from him, Big Boss felt such an abiding affection for the man that he couldn’t possibly imagine why he’d ever let Ocelot out of his sight in the first place.

“Crash here for the night,” Ocelot offered, motioning to the couch as the night came to a close. “Come on, don’t tell me you wanna walk back in the dark?”

Big Boss supposed he didn't, and kicked off his clothes to take up residence on the couch.

It wasn’t until Ocelot had said his goodnights and retreated to his room that Big Boss saw the pitiful flowers he’d brought over, placed in a vase above the mantlepiece as if they were something precious. He was satisfied with that, and even on the couch it was the best night’s sleep he’d had since arriving here. He woke to the smell of breakfast cooking and a splitting headache, and even when he was forced to drink orange juice and eat eggs after vomiting he was the happiest he’d been in years.

 

\--

 

Back in his cabin the following night, Jack felt dreadfully alone, and cursed himself for being such a coward that he hadn't asked to stay just one night longer. His bed felt cold as he lay wide awake  in it, dreading the inevitable nightmares and wishing he could be back in that embrace instead. Being alone had become intolerable, even for a night, but he wasn't sure what he could do to end it without seeming pitiful before his old protégé’s eyes - it seemed he still had a scrap of pride after all.

 

\--

 

While Ocelot had staged his own death just fine, Big Boss’s only option was to enter into hiding: Venom still ran Outer Heaven under his banner, forcing John to disappear completely to maintain the trick. So Big Boss patrolled the borders of their land for intruders each evening, and contact with local farmers was kept to a minimum; Ocelot would don a cap and glasses and look entirely unlike any iteration of himself Big Boss had ever seen when he drove to the closest settlement for supplies.

He was out on such a trip when Big Boss headed out on his horse, unsettled by the movement of birds from the south-west. The woods were dense and dark, dripping with rain and thick with years old mulch. He carefully navigated his horse around the deep mud, wary of shaking leaves and strange shadows.

Finding nothing suspect, Big Boss eased up and went for a wander. He remembered a path he had taken Ocelot on when they had first arrived, eager to show him a good view of their new home. He found the clearing at the end of it soon enough, high above the tree line; before him lay an expanse of deep greens and blue-browns in a haze of mist and rain, stretched as far as the eye could see. He could barely make out any of their livestock, let alone another residence, and the birds had all settled for the night. There was no life to be found anywhere, beside himself and the horse.

Unlimited solitude.

Rather than wonder he was struck by a deep existential fear - that this was all he had left. That Ocelot had been gone for exactly five hours and forty-three minutes, and that maybe he wasn’t coming back. He turned the horse round and headed home. It wasn't until he was clearing the trees that he noticed the pouring rain; how he was soaked and freezing and missing a warm bed.

He spotted the lights of the homestead and headed towards it, relieved Ocelot had returned at least. His companion was there to greet him at the door, guiding the horse to shelter before attending to Big Boss.

“Didn’t notice the rain clouds?” Ocelot teased, retrieving a blanket and tossing it to Big Boss. Big Boss said nothing when Ocelot declared he’d bring tea and cake, instead stripping and covering his himself with the blanket, cocooning in its warmth completely. He wanted the comfort of a cardboard box back, so he curled up and pulled the blanket around himself even tighter.

“I'll run a bath, all right?” Ocelot called out over the boiling kettle. “Last thing we need is you getting sick out here.”

Big Boss almost wanted to argue - if he got sick he could stay in here at least. He knew he was a child, and Ocelot was indulging him, but he was just so tired it barely mattered anymore.

“Bath’s ready, if you wanna have your tea in there,” Ocelot said a while later, arriving in the lounge with tea and cake in hand. When Big Boss didn't respond he joined him on the couch, setting the cup and plate down on the table. He sat close enough to Big Boss’s side that he felt the man’s breathing; he shivered. How long had it been since he'd touched anyone? He remembered the odd thrill of Ocelot's hand brushing over his a week ago, how he’d jacked off later pretending it was to memories of other women.

“John,” Ocelot said gently, lifting the blanket so he might peer inside. Big Boss made an odd choked sound deep in his throat at the heat in Ocelot’s gaze, and gave up trying to hide his arousal, his need to be touched. He allowed Ocelot to push the blanket off his shoulders and draw him in, kissing his mouth and stroking through his hair with bare hands - hot, everything was too hot now.

Ocelot hand ghosted down his stomach to stroke his dick, palm wet with spit as he pumped. For his part, Big Boss was almost frozen stiff, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as his hips rocked uncontrollably. It almost felt too good, like something would surely go wrong; Ocelot noticed he was on edge and massaged his leg, murmuring to him to _relax, it's only us, enjoy it._

To drive the point home Ocelot bent over and started licking and sucking at his dick, moaning at the taste. Big Boss squeezed his eyes shut and laced his hands into Ocelot’s hair as the man’s head bobbed in his lap - of all the ways he’d imagined the night might go, Ocelot blowing him on the couch hadn’t even been a possibility, but he was hardly about to stop him now. He hadn’t received so much attention in years, and it was a struggle not to blow his load in Ocelot’s mouth all at once. When he opened his eye a fraction the image before him was obscene: Ocelot's cheeks were flushed red, hair tucked behind his ears as he took a mouthful of cock, eyes watering and making small noises as he worked. The man was undeniably practiced, and he groaned as Ocelot took him all the way to the back of his throat before sliding back up to run his tongue over the slit, kissing from the tip to the base and nuzzling at his balls with fondness. He suspected Ocelot could have kept going for some time, enamored of his dick, but he appeared to have other plans in mind.

Big Boss’s cock was drooling when Ocelot pulled off and turned him over on his stomach, murmuring something about _making sure he wouldn’t forget this._ He left him for a moment and returned to drizzle something onto his fingers before sliding them inside Big Boss, teasing and rubbing at his hole until it felt good enough for him to buck on Ocelot’s fingers, wanting for more.

“Get on the floor,” Ocelot commanded, more kindly than Big Boss had expected, and Big Boss clambered down on the rug, all heavy limbs and sluggish desire. He felt shockingly exposed as Ocelot positioned his hips and spread his legs, then ducked down to bite and lick at his ass. “Don’t worry,” Ocelot murmured as Big Boss clenched up at the feeling of the other man’s considerably large prick sliding against his hole, “I’ve got you.”

Ocelot eased his cock inside and Big Boss heard him hiss, fingers digging into his flanks as he restrained himself from thrusting in deep like he undoubtedly wanted to. Big Boss couldn't move much, somewhat overwhelmed by the feeling of Ocelot's dick slowly dragging in and out of his ass as he established a comfortable rhythm. It wasn’t bad, being fucked like this, but he didn’t quite appreciate Ocelot’s promise until he nudged at something inside of him, then again and again until Big Boss was shaking and moaning, writhing around to get that cock even deeper inside him, hitting just the right spot. The pleasure seeped into his bones; he relaxed immediately, arms giving out so he lay flat on his chest, his ass still raised and taking Ocelot’s expert strokes. He felt it so deeply it was almost all he could think about - but it still wasn't quite enough.

“Go harder,” he grunted out, breath coming in huffs, sweat collecting on his temple and wanting to forget everything.

Ocelot chuckled, the feeling vibrating through his body. He picked up the pace, pounding into Big Boss’s ass hard enough to make him choke; he was already drooling on himself, mouth hanging open and bleary-eyed. They banged the table as they rocked together forcefully, knocking the cold tea over and spilling it down Big Boss's arm and onto the rug; Big Boss knew Ocelot would regret that come morning, but he was too distracted by the sounds of pleasure the other man was making, a strange and intimate sound he'd never thought he'd hear. His spine tingled as Ocelot let out a particularly deep groan and his thrusts became erratic. 

“Touch yourself,” Ocelot ordered, but Big Boss didn’t need to be told, already fisting his cock desperately. He came with a growl and Ocelot followed suit, slamming up against his ass and holding him there as he came, grip firm on his hips as if he was branding him.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but in the morning Ocelot loomed over him on the couch.

“You didn't try my cake,” he said, pointing at the abandoned piece still on the table. “It's probably dry now. But it'll taste the same. I'll get you some more if you want it.”

Big Boss blinked, unsure if he’d missed some vital step between getting fucked in the ass and told to eat cake. Seeing Ocelot was quite serious he obediently took the plate and chuckled - he’d finally found someone worse at the morning after than him.

“S’good,” he said around a mouthful, and Ocelot looked smug.

“Of course it is - I wouldn't give it to you otherwise.”

 

\--

 

Big Boss moved into the homestead soon after. Ocelot set up a room for him, across the hall from his bedroom. It was nice, having someone to say goodnight to before closing the door.

He wasn’t sure if he could feel anything like _love_ again, the kind that was in movies, but he supposed it didn’t matter - he didn’t watch those movies, and it had never won him a damn thing in his life. But sharing a home with a man who had never pained him felt like an achievement. Peace. That he so resembled the love that he had lost eventually faded from his conscience: out here, they were nobody’s sons, nor friends or enemies.

Ocelot had been dismayed at Big Boss's diet so far and how much weaker he’d supposedly felt in his arms, and endeavoured to do better. Big Boss watched with interest as he measured out ingredients exactly, and redid things from scratch the moment he did something wrong. He was particularly precious about Big Boss's fifty-third birthday cake, perfecting it over several days and throwing out the unsatisfactory rejects to the birds.

They sat together after the birthday dinner and cake, watching the dogs dart over the field. Big Boss let him know the casserole was good, and a light flush spread on Ocelot's cheeks; Big Boss was pleased to see the man was well into his forties and still reacting like a teen to praise.

“Guess I should offer to help out,” Big Boss said as Ocelot cleared the table. He might have, if one of the dogs hadn't jumped on his lap and demanded a scratch.

“Well, you don't have to do anything,” Ocelot said, loading the plates up on his arm. “It’s your birthday and I invited you out here, after all. Just don't go anywhere.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he said, frowning at the implication he _might_ as he watched Ocelot walk into the kitchen.

 

\--

 

There were still limits to sharing their lives though, and Big Boss discovered so as he went rifling through Ocelot’s book collection one evening, looking for anything that might stimulate his brain as he waited for Ocelot to return from his his dusk rides. He settled on a green leather-bound book, hefty and printed in Russian: something about war ethics. There were small notes scribbled on some pages that weren’t Ocelot’s handwriting, but before he could check the ownership Ocelot entered the lounge, frowning deeply.

“Where’d you find that?” Ocelot said suddenly, and Big Boss knew he’d done wrong. Ocelot held out his hand expectantly and Big Boss gave it over; the other man immediately inspected it for damage before holding it close to his chest, perhaps without realising it.

“In your book pile over here. I didn’t know it was anything special.”

“It’s nothing,” Ocelot said. “Just a book.”

It wasn’t, of course, but Big Boss wasn’t about to question it. He learned to leave Ocelot’s belongings alone after that. If Ocelot knew when to grant Big Boss his distance, then he could learn to do the same. He wasn’t Kaz, after all, even if he had nothing to hide.

 

_\--_

 

Winter visited for too long every year, and Big Boss didn’t tolerate the densely packed snow and bitter cold like Ocelot did. Frozen streams, frozen pipes, pissing in the dead of night when it felt like his dick might snap off - it all seemed like a pain in the ass. But at least he had a bed in the house now, and sometimes shared it with several warm bodies when the dogs and cats piled in.

As Ocelot sat by the fire sketching something, and John sat by the window watching the snow fall against the dark sky, he remembered their very first winter: how Ocelot had ventured out in the deep chill to stand by the lake, bundled up in a thick coat and scarf. He’d tapped the frozen water with his boot and made an ‘ooh’ sound before chuckling, and John was so struck by the memory of The Boss making the same sound during their first winter together that he’d turned away to look at the snow-laden trees instead.

Sometimes he wondered what Ocelot might have been like if his parents had raised him; if this wasn’t him slowly easing into some semblance of normal he’d been denied as a child. He seemed calmer now, and not in the restrained, calculating way he’d become since Cipher’s decline; that wild joy sucked out of him as he was burdened with guilt and his mother’s legacy. Big Boss had hated seeing that, more than anything, but he must have changed too; had felt himself become more dull as the years went by, less willing to find joy in anything that wasn’t fighting. When he’d awoken from his coma he’d felt like he might never pick up the parts of himself left to sink in that ocean, but out here, with snow falling lightly, he thought he might have a chance of patching himself back together.

He didn’t have much time to think on it as a snowball hit the back of his head. He turned around to see Ocelot laugh and throw another straight at his face. Outraged but thrilled to see an even younger Ocelot peek through, he stalked him through the snow to wrestle him down. For a moment they were possessed with a desire for violence, and his grip probably hurt as he bore the other man down, but Ocelot simply laughed and threw him off, pink-faced from the cold. It was all right - they were in this together.

“What’re you drawing?” Big Boss inquired presently.

“You.”

“Show me.”

So Ocelot turned his sketchbook around.

“Pretty good. Huh, is my ass really that big?”

“Artistic interpretation,” Ocelot said. “Wanna try drawing me next -”

“Look, I don't wanna start a fight here, because I don’t think you’ll like what you’ll see.”

Ocelot laughed at that and flipped over a new page, ready to start drawing one of the cats preening itself by the fire.

 

\--

 

He woke up exhausted and shaken after reliving those nine years asleep within the space of a single night, and searched for Ocelot at the foot of his bed just as he’d been there in ‘84. Finding he wasn’t there, Big Boss started counting the minutes, then seconds before Ocelot would invariably get up. Soon enough a door was opening, and John relaxed at the sound of the kettle whistling and Ocelot muttering to the dog.

He had bundled up in blankets again when he thought he heard Ocelot stop at his door, pausing for a while as if listening. He moved on eventually, if he had ever been there, but Big Boss was unable to get back to sleep, wishing he had just opened the door.

 

\--

 

One early morning after the snow melted Ocelot wanted to go mushroom picking, so he headed into the woods with a basket and Big Boss in tow. It took some adjusting to, the concept of Shalashaska going foraging in the woods, but he supposed they made a fine pair of misfits if anyone saw them now.  

“Don't eat anything,” Ocelot said as Big Boss nudged at a large spotted fungus with his toe. “Seriously, Boss, don't eat anything. How did you even survive '64?”

“One talented radio team.”

“Figures.”

As Ocelot searched the ground, Big Boss occupied himself with staring at Ocelot's body, thinking how strange it was that he had just held it in his arms that morning, listening to him breathe as he pushed inside. It wasn't something he had considered before coming here - seemed off limits, considering who had given birth to him. He wouldn't give it up now though, even if she asked him to.

He was leaning over to touch Ocelot's back when he noticed Ocelot was looking ahead, very still: a stag had wandered into their line of vision, and Big Boss’s hand was already steadying his rifle, thinking of just how much meat they could ration out. He had a perfect shot - but then he saw Ocelot, looking at him with alarm as if the possibility of shooting the beast had never crossed his mind. His hand wavered - all he wanted to do was kill it; watch that heavy body hit the ground with a satisfying thump, cut it to pieces as a spoil of war -  

Big Boss sighed and laid the gun down. The stag eventually walked off, blissfully unaware of how close it had come to meeting its end.

Ocelot put a hand on his shoulder and leaned down to softly kiss Big Boss’s mouth.

“I think I’ve got enough for tonight,” he said warmly, picking up his full basket. “You won't miss the meat.”

Big Boss grumbled, but he supposed a kiss felt a bit nicer than dragging a stag’s body home.

 

\--

 

In their self-imposed exile they never had visitors, or sold their wares; couldn’t afford the attention, and they had more than enough money thanks to Ocelot’s maneuvering.

Which was why it was concerning Ocelot would spend so much time organising things only he would ever see. Big Boss knew well enough that anal retentiveness and obsessiveness was part of Ocelot’s charm, but there was a line between the familiar and the alarming. It was like watching a clock hand get stuck, twitching in one place.

“Just keeping occupied,” had been Ocelot's first excuse as he reorganised his pantry for the fifth time, but as the months rolled on he reorganised it another eighteen times, Big Boss felt he should intervene; it wasn't until he heard Ocelot smashing up his jars of fruit preserve that he was forced to.

“I just wanted to break something,” Ocelot explained, staring hard at Big Boss’s hand gripping his arm. “Doesn't feel as good as I thought it would though - smashing up something I took so much time making -”

“Are you even happy here, pretending to to be a farmer?”

Ocelot's gaze sharpened, and Big Boss knew immediately he’d spoken clumsily. He let go, and Ocelot rubbed where his arm had been squeezed. Eventually: “Well, are you?”

“I don't really feel that much at all these days,” Big Boss replied simply.

“I like raising animals. And cooking. And how the sun looks at dawn, “ Ocelot struggled to answer, and it was the most ineloquent Big Boss had ever heard him. “Who am I kidding...out there I had about fifty personalities, but they all had the same goal in mind. I can't wrap my head around _this_ being it. Shalashaska...a farmer. And not a very good one either I’m a killer, and a liar, not a _farmer_.”

“You’re a fine farmer. You can’t help that the soil’s no good.” Big Boss paused to think and scratch his increasingly wild beard. “You're not the only one...getting used to never feeling the rush of combat again isn’t easy. Guess you get addicted to it, then once it’s gone...nothing. But it's not so bad. I got company, at least. And the food’s decent - the sex too - “

Ocelot made an amused _‘tch’_ sound at that before adding in: “Well, clearly the problem is we’re having a hard time letting go of the whole soldier business. Let's stop calling each other by our codenames. Might help...ease the dissociation.”

“Right. Adam.”

They shook hands like they were meeting for the first time, and it was a stark difference between the violence they’d first met with and the mess of fruit preserve and glass on the ground now.

“I’m going to miss the varenye tomorrow though,” John mourned.

“I’ll make some more. Just don’t eat it off the ground. Don’t look at me like that, I know you were thinking about it.”

And so Adam went out to pick his berries again, and John set up a new punching bag so the homestead wouldn’t have to suffer for their violence again.

 

\--

 

John never been one to seek sex out - always been more the type who could spend years without touch and feel no less satisfied for it. The embrace of war, the sliding of a knife into flesh, that had been enough. Sex was a pleasure he’d had to learn to indulge in, but even now he rarely felt the urge, and usually only sought it out when he felt a spike of adrenaline, which rarely came by either. But on the off chance it did he would quietly enter Adam's room and nudge him awake, knowing he wouldn’t be turned away. Adam was more than happy to oblige, pushing John down to rut into him as impossibly deep as he liked, or sometimes letting John spread his legs wide and push into him if he wanted to assert some of his old dominance. They were the only people for miles - it didn't seem so strange to share bodies now and again. 

It had been a particularly long dry spell though, and if John had been less oblivious he might have noticed Adam looking strained as he emerged naked from the bath earlier in the day. He might not have been so surprised when Adam grabbed him in the barn and pressed his crotch to John’s clothed ass either, grinding and letting him feel the hardness there. John spluttered, dropping the rake as Adam pulled back to roughly grope an asscheek; that this was the same kid who he’d knocked flat on his back seemed almost incomprehensible.  

It appeared Adam had come not only pent-up but prepared, which was the least surprising thing about getting bent over and fucked in the barn like some whore. John felt his heart racing at as Adam dragged his pants and briefs down, spat on his hand and fingered him roughly, just to really let him feel it before easing in with lube. John barely had time to steady himself before Adam was pushing his thick cock in, swearing about how hot John’s ass was.

“You ever let another man fuck you in the ass before?” Adam asked, voice breathy. “You’re so tight.”

So it was going to be another one of Adam’s roleplays. When he didn’t respond fast enough Adam slapped at his ass and thigh like he was riding him; the sharp sting of each hit made John groan loudly, the pain and rough treatment exciting some visceral part of him.

“Oh, you got some humiliation fetish?” Adam panted, snapping his hips and clearly enjoying himself. “You like getting slapped around?

_“Nn.”_

“I like that,” Adam jeered, and he was rewarded with a series of hard slaps that made his skin burn. He groaned louder, at both the pain and how Adam was using him, his cock setting a relentless pace. He went in: “Listen to you, loud enough for the whole countryside to hear. Want someone to walk in here and see you like this?”

John felt so hot and fuzzy-minded that he could only mumble something out about how Adam probably would. The man chuckled, a light sound as he pumped into John’s ass.

“I’m sick of sharing. You’re all mine now.”

He pulled John’s head back by the hair, firmly enough to let him know who was in control. John felt his ass filled with cum - Adam always made sure to do that, holding him tight even as he squirmed and complained about it. John didn’t whine today though, still shivering from his stinging flesh and rocking back on Adam’s dick, searching for his orgasm.

“Damn, you wanna cum from that alone?” Adam marveled. “Who knew the legendary Big Boss was such a - “

“Just shut up and do something,” John growled. Adam laughed and pulled out before lying John across his lap and sliding his fingers back in, the motion sudden enough to cut off John's protests at being manhandled. Adam worked his prostate with expert skill, his fingers hooked and rubbing exactly where he needed them, the motions causing cum to dribble out and John to jerk uncontrollably. The feeling was incredible: a heavy, spreading pleasure emanating from where Adam was massaging that had his entire body convulsing, overcome with a sensation more intense than anything he'd felt before that wasn't the heady rush of the battlefield. He came in long spurts on Adam’s lap and the hay, panting heavily and sweating something terrible as he rolled off of him and collapsed. 

“Jesus,” he let out, utterly debauched and still shaking minutes later. “What was that about?”

Flushed-faced and hair stuck to his forehead, Adam looked almost deliriously pleased with himself as he wiped his fingers on his pants. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to get my hands on you?”

John blinked. “I thought - you’d gotten over it. Just a teenage crush - “

“Oh boy. You are funny. Well, I’d fuck you every day if you had the sex drive for it. Probably three times.”

John was embarrassed and stunned, both at Adam’s audacity and that he’d been wanted so badly.

“You don’t mind though, do you?” Adam wondered, looking somewhat concerned. “About me grabbing you like that.”

“Could’ve thrown you off if you didn’t want it.”

“You're easily persuaded, though.”

It was strange, being asked exactly what he felt and it mattering; personal feelings hadn’t been a consideration since he was fifteen, and even amongst allies it had barely mattered in the face of their own desires. So he thought on it, and found he didn’t feel particularly robbed, even of his dignity; Adam looked at him with such a profound love and respect at all times that he probably could have invited a group in to watch and he’d feel no less demeaned for it. “You’ve never taken anything from me,” John said. “Except the eye.”

Adam smiled, patting him on the knee fondly before standing up to tuck his soft dick back in his pants.

“Same time, same place tomorrow?”

“You wish you were that lucky.”

Adam winked and threw John a finger-gun before walking out, evidently still cheered by living out some fantasy, and John was left to grumble and clean up his mess.

 

\--

 

Aside from the odd exciting interlude, most of the time John was numb. There were small pleasures here and there: a good meal, rough-housing the dogs, how clean Ocelot always smelled on the nights they shared a bed. But it was nothing like the surge of adrenaline he’d felt with a gun in his hand, or the bone-deep sense of belonging he’d had with The Boss. He thought little of her now, not because he had forgotten, but because it pained him; her second grave went untended to lately, covered in dried leaves and overgrown with weeds. With Adam he had sworn not to speak much on their old life - of her and Cipher in particular. Instead they talked about the weather, recipes for Adam to try, bird migration: boring, but unlikely to harm.

It wasn’t until he had a dream of her, bullet-wounds oozing with blood, that he was unable to escape the finality of her death and rejection; the humiliation of being passed down and lied to by his country and friends; the image of Paz’s intestines spilling out as the lie he’d called his home burned into the ocean. Two children and nine years robbed from him - there wasn’t anything in him that hadn’t been torn away, spat on or trampled by the country he’d served or the people he’d known as friends.

When Adam had asked him how he had dealt with the repeated betrayals, he knew deep down that it was because hadn’t believed he deserved much else. But now he felt a deep mourning over what had been stolen from him settle in, and the shock of feeling like a human again was almost more painful than the stripping of it that had begun in Tselinoyarsk. He felt raw and split open, hot tears on his face before he registered he was crying.

The door creaked open and Adam peeked in. He didn’t say anything, just walked over and sat by John’s side. He paused a while, as if deciding what to do, before awkwardly embracing him as he sobbed. John might have thrown him off if he was anyone else, but Adam had never been among the many to cause him pain. And when he looked through blurred eyes and saw her face faintly, John realised he wasn’t the only person The Boss had left behind. He clung to the other man’s shirt, wetting it with tears, comforted by the soothing hand on his back and Adam’s patient silence.

“About time you realised it,” Adam said quietly, and John laid down to sleep at his side, tired but content.

 

\--

 

He went to tidy her grave in the morning, apologising for being so thoughtless as he pushed the leaves off. Adam watched from the porch, placing a hand on John’s shoulder as he walked back in.

“I made pancakes” he offered, and they sat down to eat breakfast like it was any other day.

They didn’t speak on what happened that night, but afterwards John moved into Ocelot’s room, sleeping beside him so he wouldn’t be alone for his nightmares. He’d thought it would be harder, considering his bulk and Ocelot’s height, but the bed was large enough and they both slept soundly. He woke up one morning with Ocelot tucked into his side, and felt so extremely comfortable that he could have been fifteen again, lying beside The Boss’s bedroll.

 


	2. Chapter 2

sorry, I'm doing some major edits on this chapter so I've taken it down until it's ready to go again! I got about halfway through before I got too busy to continue, and I'm too anal to leave a half edited chapter up for weeks on end. If you really badly want it I'll send you the pdf, but pls hold tight until it's fixed - should take about a week or so to tighten it up. 

**Author's Note:**

> damn.....can't believe Ocelot healed him through the power of prostate orgasms...................anyway Ocelot whisks him away before Outer Heaven got too serious, otherwise I don't think this method woulda worked so good. Part 2 incoming after I update the other fic probably, god send me Strength..


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